


Eleven Years After

by uchuuji



Category: Lamento -BEYOND THE VOID-
Genre: Children, Future Fic, M/M, i have never tagged anything in my goddamn life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 11:10:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15662043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uchuuji/pseuds/uchuuji
Summary: after everything has ended, there is still something after.i wrote this for the lamento anniversary like a year ago and forgot about it





	Eleven Years After

It is one year after and Konoe is living in Kira with the cat he loves. He and Asato live in a small hut on the outskirts of town. It isn’t the house Asato was living in when they first met – it had been burned down almost right after they escaped – but it is still homely enough; the roof leaks when it rains occasionally and there always seems to be a breeze, no matter how many boards Konoe puts up, but it was the home they lived in together and that is all that matters. It’s away from the other huts, enough to avoid the stares from their neighbors when they leave the house, but close enough to visit Kagari as much as Asato wishes. Konoe spends much of his time gathering, as much as one can with one hand, and Asato assists in the town guard protecting the borders while following Konoe as much as he can get away (the guilt – he’ll never stop being guilty, for as long as Konoe is without one lower arm.) They live a quiet life, a repetitive life, but it’s peaceful.

It is two years after and Konoe is thinking about leaving. Decades of hostility and hatred in the residents of Kira couldn’t be wiped away so quickly; Asato is still seen as a monster, a beast, something to be merely tolerated for its presence. Konoe is not much better – he used to have black ears and now that he doesn’t, it’s assumed to be some sort of magical spell by the others. They are not outwardly hated. There are no attacks, no throwing of stones, no heated words. But there is the sense of coldness permeating their relationships with the other cats. An underlying sense of dread. It sets Konoe’s tail on end, makes him want to seek an escape. Even Asato, as unobservant as he is with emotions, is starting to look at other cats with pricked eyes, seeking the unknown dangers. Konoe isn’t sure what is going to happen.

It is three years after and Konoe is at the doors of a familiar inn. He holds a bag full their belongings on one shoulder, and the other is pressed into Asato’s comfortingly. Asato didn’t look well when they left Kira – his body trembling, his eyes glued firmly to his feet, his ears pinned to his skull, as he left the place of his birth for a second time – but he’s starting to perk up, looking more animated to see their old friends. He bumps his shoulder back, shifting his adoring gaze onto Konoe, and they share a smile. Konoe pushes open the door and he sees the scarred, wrinkled face of someone they hadn’t seen for a long time. Bardo looks up at the bell, a bored look on his face morphing into a large grin. Konoe grasps Asato’s arm and drags him into their new life.

It is four years after and Konoe is running from one table to the next. His feet are aching and he’s having trouble balancing the platter with one hand and hip, but the work is satisfying and Bardo is paying him, albeit at a lower rate to cover the cost of their room and board. Asato isn’t working with customers – he isn’t allowed to, after the first time he drew a knife on a customer after they were particularly rude to Konoe – but Konoe knows he’s in the back, either moving boxes or learning something new (and questionably useful) from Bardo. Rai is sitting at one of the bar seats, facing the eating hall, with his blade in his lap. Konoe rolls his eyes at the sight and Rai waves his fingers in a manner that he guesses isn’t supposed to be particularly friendly. Rai still likes to pretend that he doesn’t enjoy his company. Out of the corner of his eye, Konoe can see a black tail poking out of the kitchen, its owner attempting to hide behind the doorway, and he grins. Asato likes to keep watch on Konoe, which is both irritating and endearing at the same time. Konoe makes sure to nudge the tail with his boot as he walks past and laughs when Asato jumps, shame and embarrassment flooding his features, before a small smile appears. ‘This,’ Konoe thinks, ‘is love’. And the way Asato loves him is so complete that it feels like his heart is overflowing.

It is five years after and Konoe is watching as Asato prepares to leave for the forest of Ransen. The woods had long been free of prey, but herds of bucks and does had been spotted the previous spring and the population is beginning to stabilize. Asato, fatigued by a domesticated life, intends to bring one home. Konoe watches as he straps his sword to his belt, his bow (new – he bought it with his own money a few spare months ago) to his back, a small bag of jerky and kuims to his hip. Konoe yearns to join him in this adventure, to wear his dagger and wield his voice once more, but he does not think that he’ll be much use in a game of hunting – it is difficult to hold a bow in a grip of one-and-a-half arms. All he can do is press Asato to his chest and kiss his cheek, hoping that he will return soon, whole and healthy. Asato smiles and presses his nose to Konoe’s and for a moment, they share one breathe. Then, the moment ends and Asato walks through the door. 

It is six years after and Konoe returns to Karou. It isn’t – it isn’t like how it was the last time he visited. The toxic, consuming nothingness is gone, having dissipated when Leaks… when it happened. The forest has overgrown, covering the abandoned buildings with vines and plant life. It’s difficult to navigate with the thickness of it, but Asato brings his sword and he uses it to clear the way. The way to his home, to the hut where he lived and his mother had lived, is long but its filled with Asato’s questions. What did you do here? Did you like it here? What’s this plant? Is this your territory? Is this your home? Asato wishes to know everything about Konoe, about his past, and Konoe can do nothing but give them to him. They reach the hut by dusk and Konoe is surprised to see that not much has changed in over half a decade. Crawling vines have climbed the doorway, but the interior is remotely untouched. Even the glowing leaves he kept, now dried and crumbling, are right where he left him. He takes a moment to take in the sight of his old life, before… before everything happened. And he expects to feel longing, to feel the desire to return. Instead, he feels nothing but hints of nostalgia. It is, he supposes, his home no longer. 

It is seven years after and Konoe realizes that he wants to spend the rest of his life with Asato. It takes him hearing of Kagari accepting a husband, a mild-mannered male with a too large mouth, to make him think of it. In a way, he’s already been doing so – they live together, albeit in a rented inn room; they share funds, albeit a small amount of funds; they do most things together, albeit neither have many friends. The next step, the next step is logical. It does, however, surprise Konoe when Asato is the one who makes that step. He invites Konoe out to the flower field, the one from so very long ago, and they sit in the field together, among the flowers glowing in the dark. Asato looks nervous – his eyes are wide and afraid yet excited as he gazes into Konoe’s own and his fingers are trembling as they dig into the pocket of his tunic. Konoe, for a moment, is almost afraid that Asato is going to kill him, just like he had been told to do all those years ago, but instead of a knife he draws out – a bracelet. Dark, wooden beads separated by precious stones carved into delicate flowers. His hands are still shaking as they slide it onto Konoe’s wrist. And then he asks Konoe if he would be his. And Konoe, well, Konoe feels as though he can’t speak, like something is stuck in his throat, like he can’t breathe. And then Konoe kisses him and breathes yes into his mouth.

It is eight years after and Konoe is thinking about children. Of screaming and laughing, of tugging of sleeves and demands of embraces, of unconditional love. It wasn’t – It isn’t something he considered for most of his life. Born into a world of dying females and kits, it was considered an impossibility, something only to imagine when you’ve drunk too much. Now, Konoe can hear high-pitched laughter in the streets as the children who were born after everything was over play. He can hear their parents yelling as they wrestle a tad too rough and calls to come home quick or no dinner for you! For the first time in two decades, Konoe can dream of the future. All it takes is a willing female to carry the young – an expensive feat, most likely, but Konoe and Asato have the rest of their life to put aside money. But, he wonders, what future awaits me? When he’s at his rational, he sees pale, sandy hair and golden eyes, just like him, just like Leaks. And when he thinks too much, thinks with too much hope, he sees something else: red, red hair like the downy of a bird, green eyes with a spark of kindness. It is an impossibility, he thinks, but wasn’t this an impossibility as well?

It is nine years after and Konoe asks Asato for a child. The way Konoe words it makes Asato’s brows bunch in confusion and his eyes wander down below, like he is second guessing everything he know about biology. Konoe laughs then, loud and obnoxious but he can’t help it, before explaining that no, males born like him cannot have children, no matter how many times you try. Asato has a look of disappointment on his face for one second, like he wants to try to put a child in Konoe, before Konoe cuts that thought process short and explains: his desire for offspring, the money he’s saved to request a female, the yearning to love their own child. And Asato stops, his back stiff and fingers twitching. And Asato smiles with all his teeth, dull and sharp. And Asato says yes.

It is ten years after and Konoe is watching Asato hold the child, their child. It – she – has soft, dark locks that curl around her black ears like ringlets. Her eyes aren’t open yet – they won’t be for ten days, the healer said – but Konoe knows they’re going to be brilliantly, impossibly blue and he will love her for it. Asato is staring down at her, amazement etched on his features, and his hands that are delicately clutching their child are trembling, from fear or excitement, Konoe isn’t sure. Konoe reaches and traces her face with one finger from forehead to chin, feeling the warm skin under the pad of his finger. She snuffles in reply, her nose twitching in irritation at her sleep being disturbed. Asato makes a noise, much like their daughter, and Konoe looks to see tears flowing freely down his face and Konoe feels love bursting in his heart, almost overflowing. He grabs Asato’s face with his hand and wipes the drops with his thumb. He meets Asato’s wet eyes, damp blue, and smiles. He decides, right then, that he wouldn’t mind a larger family.

It is eleven years later and Konoe is waking up. It is early in the morning, the sun is just barely poking through the window, and a dark head is in his lap. Asato is purring in his sleep, comfortable where he lays, and his hands are straining and opening like he’s grasping. Pressed against Asato’s chest was a smaller shape with lengthy dark curls, sharp and inky ears, a soft tail curling towards her father’s waist. His lips turn up at the sight and he lean down to press a kiss on each of their brows fondly before pushing Asato’s head away. He makes a grumbling sound before curling in on the child and his purrs continue to rumble out. His feet land on the cold of the floor and he’s tempted to return to bed but a small cry forces him to move his legs. A small cot with barred sides stands in the corner of the room and Konoe stands over it. Inside, a child rests, his face screwing with dissatisfaction for being ignored. Konoe grinned and he pet the shock of red hair starting to grow out of his skull, touches the tip of his pale orange ears, before putting a hand underneath his back and drawing him close to his own chest. It’s difficult sometimes with one arm, but much practice with their first babe has perfected the maneuver. He brings the infant’s face to his own, gazes into the pale blue (but they won’t stay that way – he can already see the streaks of green) and presses his lips to his cheek. Konoe cradles their child as he looks back at the two forms in the bed, lover and daughter, and he smiles as he realizes something.

It is eleven years after and Konoe is happy.


End file.
